er anyhow than to let Tom get hopelessly entangled."

"Anything would be better than that."

"And prevention is better than cure. You can't apply a cure, besides.
When a man like Tom, or any man, once gets a thing of this sort in his
head, it is hopeless. He'll go through thick and thin, and take time to
repent afterwards. Men are so stupid!"

"Women sometimes."

"Not I, mamma; if you mean me. I hope for the credit of your
discernment you don't."

"Lent will begin soon," observed the elder lady presently.

"Lent will not make any difference with Tom," returned the daughter.
"And little parties are more dangerous than big ones."

"What shall I do about the party we were going to give? I should be
obliged to ask Mrs. Wishart."

"I'll tell you, mamma," Julia said after a little thinking. "Let it be
a luncheon party; and get Tom to go down into the country that day. And
then go off to Florida, both of you."

CHAPTER II.

AT BREAKFAST.

"How do you like New York, Lois? You have been here long enough to
judge of us now?"

"Have I?"

Mrs. Wishart and her guest being at breakfast, this question and answer
go over the table. It is not exactly in New York, however. That is, it
is within the city bounds, but not yet among the city buildings. Some
little distance out of town, with green fields about it, and trees, and
lawn sloping down to the river bank, and a view of the Jersey shore on
the other side. The breakfast room windows look out over this view,
upon which the winter sun is shining; and green fields stand in
beautiful illumination, with patches of snow lying here and there. Snow
is not on the lawn, however. Mrs. Wishart's is a handsome old house,
not according to the latest fashion, either in itself or its fitting
up; both are of a simpler style than anybody of any pretension would
choose now-a-days; but Mrs. Wishart has no need to make any pretension;
her standing and her title to it are too well known. Moreover, there
are certain quain't witnesses to it all over, wherever you look. None
but one of such secured position would have such an old carpet on her
floor; and few but those of like antecedents could show such rare old
silver on the board. The shawl that wraps the lady is Indian, and not
worn for show; there are portraits on the walls that go back to a
respectable English ancestry; there is precious old furniture about,
that money could not buy; old and quain't and rich, and yet no